


Holiday On The Mountain Side

by hannibalnuxvoxmica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, First Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Only a little bit of angst though, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Loves Hannibal, and only in the past tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica/pseuds/hannibalnuxvoxmica
Summary: The holiday season is upon them and, while out on his own, Will thinks back on the past and on how far he and Hannibal have come since their fall into the Atlantic.





	Holiday On The Mountain Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magical_Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/gifts).



> My (belated) Christmas fic for [Magical_Destiny!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/pseuds/Magical_Destiny) I sincerely hope you enjoy!!

“You’re decorating?” Will asks wide-eyed, the answer to his question already obvious. A cabin wrapped in garland and fairy lights and adorned with wreaths wasn’t what he expected to wake up to when he fell asleep last night.

 

“I am,” Hannibal answers, looking away from his work to greet Will.

 

Will walks further in the room to get a better look at Hannibal’s work; the colorful lights woven through the foil garland reflecting in the whites of his eyes.

 

“It looks nice,” Will says, his voice warm with sincerity. “It looks really nice.”

 

A smile creeps onto Hannibal’s face. “I had an ounce of inspiration and a moment of free time,” Hannibal shrugs it off, belying his delight at Will’s compliment. “It isn’t much.”

 

“It’s more than I’ve ever bothered to do,” Will says. “More than I’ve ever had.” There wasn’t much Christmas celebration in Will’s childhood. Closer to call it an occasional glance at something resembling festivity and not much else. A gift exchanged here and there. An excuse in his adult years to buy an expensive bottle of whiskey to drink alone. Not much else.

 

“I was planning on something more traditional for dessert after dinner,” Hannibal says. “My own interpretation of an apple pie would be fitting for the season... Except we are out of the necessary ingredients, so I’ll have to go shopping before I can make it.”

 

“I can do the shopping,” Will offers instantly and Hannibal turns to him, piqued.

 

“It’s going to storm later, you might get caught in it if you go out now.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Will replies, leaving out the _I’m not the one who has a problem with the cold, remember?_ on the end. “Just tell me what to get and you can stay here and work on this.”

 

Hannibal, after a second of consideration, smiles and agrees to the plan. He gives Will a modest shopping list and Will grabs his coat and heads out. There is already a bite to the air, and Will stuffs his hands into his pockets as the front door swings shut behind him.

 

This will be their first Christmas since their recovery and Will, for a multitude of reasons in the moment, is feeling festive. After their dive into the Atlantic and ensuing escape, Will had been living between two worlds and refusing both, and had any holiday celebrations rolled around while he was attempting to obviate existence entirely it would have only added to his bitter fuming.

 

_You are withdrawing inside hoping to prove something about me, not you._

 

Will’s mind starts to wander and the memory rings clear in his mind. Hannibal had said that to him before in the early days of their cohabitation when their wounds were still fresh and their edges still sharpened...but that felt like a different life now. Since then they have moved on, both metaphorically and physically, from the place they were then. The accusation at the time, though, had been nothing short of accurate.

 

He knows now it was never a choice of going back to his old life, whichever iteration of that he is thinking of, because he knows that even under the most optimistic of circumstances he would be incapable of it. There is no door to his past left ajar. His life after meeting Hannibal provided an endless series of opportunities to step away and each he slammed in his own face, one by one like rows of falling dominos.

 

_Let them stampede,_ he told them. _Authenticity. Let them believe I helped Hannibal escape._

 

Not only slammed doors lay riddled behind him, but bridges gone up in flames. Salted ashes.

 

_I don’t intend for Hannibal to be caught a second time._

 

Or maybe his opportunities weren’t endless, Will allows for the thought. Maybe those moments existed in finite numbers at best but in reality were purely hypothetical. Imaginary. With each new step of his developing waltz with Hannibal he felt both that he was doing the only thing he could and that he was deluding himself by believing that. And now in afterthought, Will can’t see it all any other way; either his choices were too innumerable to count or there was never a choice to begin with, and he doesn’t know which reality he prefers.

 

Hannibal has done his best, in his own way, to help Will assuage his conscience on the entire matter. And in learning to work with each other, to compromise for the sake of mutual benefit, Hannibal even showed capable of stepping outside of himself to give Will what he needed, when what he needed was difficult for Hannibal to accept in concept; a reason and an excuse, an invitation to do both what he needs and what he wants, and the patience required until Will figured out just what that is. Not that patience was a virtue Hannibal lacked when it came to Will. And, Hannibal being Hannibal and Will being himself, he would be lying if he said it hadn’t been effective.

 

Mostly effective, anyway. Will has accepted that there will always be parts of him that can never be pleased or contented with anything. Parts of his mind will always chime in with this anxiety or that disappointment.

 

Will sets a purposed pace for himself, monotonously taking one step after the other, and soon his thoughts begin to wander deeper.

 

_“She didn’t love you.” Hannibal’s tone is direct but not sharp. However poorly their conversation had started out, as conversations about Will’s family and past usually did, it had turned into a monster of its own with incredible alacrity._

 

_Will spins around, frustration boiling under the surface, disguising what lies beneath. “She loved who she thought I was.”_

 

_Hannibal gives a knowing nod. “And that wasn’t reality. We may very well love the idea or ideal of someone, but that is far from loving the person as they are. There is no test or trial in that. It is rooted in vanity and presumption, nothing more.”_

 

_Will knows he has no argument here. He knows Hannibal is undeniably right, that he was right about Will, about all of this, from the moment he turned himself in outside the steps of his home in Wolf Trap. But anger spawns from that knowledge and now he’s brimming with it._

 

_“You’re the one who keeps pressing this issue. Not me. I don’t want to talk about this.”_

 

_Hannibal steps forward. “I press the topic precisely because you are so eager to run away from it. Your inability to talk about it proves that you need to.”_

 

_“I’m not unable,” Will corrects. “I am_ unwilling _.” The sharp emphasis on his words comes out like a hiss. Like venom._

 

_Hannibal takes another stride forward. “And why are you unwilling?”_

 

_Will is acutely aware of the space between them. Hannibal has closed the distance to only a few feet, advancing on Will but without a semblance of a threat. There is nothing domineering about Hannibal’s posture or malice in his intent, that much is obvious._

 

_Will could lash out, attack him if he wanted to. If he chose to. He would probably have the upperhand in this case; they’re both still injured but Hannibal more so than Will, having taken both a bullet and the brunt of their fall._

 

He protected you from the water, _a treacherous voice chimes in Will’s head. He shoves it away from him._

 

_“I didn’t want this,” Will blurts out vaguely. “I didn’t want any of this.”_

 

_“You put your life in my hands and I made the only decision that I could.” Hannibal’s voice doesn’t falter from composed and serene._

 

_“I made my decision. You took it away.”_

 

_Hannibal shakes his head once. “Whether we would survive the icy thrashes of the Atlantic was a decision you left up to fate. That was a gamble, not a choice.”_

 

_Will’s breath catches in his throat. “I didn’t want to survive.”_

 

_The look Hannibal gives him is one Will knows he holds in reserve for him and only him; compassionate but not the least bit pitying. Reverent and severely fond. “And you chose that I should die with you, rather than going it alone.”_

 

_Will tenses his jaw and then slackens it. A beat of silence passes through them. “Yes.” His anger burns under his skin, but the more they speak the more he feels his resolve weakening._

 

_Beyond these walls, snow falls in clumps and blankets the ground. The sun has already set and the world is pitch black except for the faint light of the broken moon hung in the sky. There is an isolation to be felt here, but it isn’t the feeling of isolation that Will is used to._

 

_This small cabin and their small, trying existence within its walls might as well be suspended in space. Flung out among the infinite, dark abyss, frozen and untouched by time. Getting up and walking out the door isn’t an option not only because they’re tucked away far from civilization in the dead of winter, but because Will knows that no world exists for him anymore beyond these walls. There is no space he belongs in other than the sliver he occupies now, and even that is still up for debate in his mind._

 

_“You said there was to be one last goodbye between us, and so you wanted to make it count,” Hannibal says. “Only with the commitment to end your own life did you allow yourself to finally delight in what you had denied yourself for so long. And the realization of that delight devastated you.”_

 

_Will doesn’t reply this time. He holds his tongue behind clenched teeth, feeling exhausted frustration take its place as his anger begins to wilt. He hates feeling like this. He doesn’t know whether he would prefer to be swallowed whole by the earth or hugged._

 

_Hannibal continues when Will falls silent. “It devastated the sense of self you had worked your entire life building and perfecting,” he pauses. “The perfect husband. The perfect father. Your family was an experiment doomed to fail.”_

 

_Will shakes his head. “They weren’t an experiment.”_

 

_“They were an attempt at the normalcy you have always craved,” Hannibal says. “An excuse to retreat inward and deny the dark, hidden spaces of your mind. An excuse to pretend all is well. An excuse to deny yourself your truth.”_

 

_Will huffs a heavy, pained laugh. “I am out of excuses.”_ _The admission escapes Will like a bullet. Like ripping the gauze from a bleeding wound and spilling out on the floor. Regret and relief flood his senses in equal measures after the words escape his lips._

 

_Will looks away, staring off and at the ground, unable to look at Hannibal’s face or be forced to feel his own misery reflected back on him like a mirror._

 

_Hannibal stays quiet for a few beats of silence. It wasn’t like him to be unsure of what to say, but with Will in such straits he fears saying the wrong thing, and Will can feel that, too._

 

Will pauses in both pace and thought to look ahead of him.

 

The town lies just ahead. He’s walked farther than he had thought, and briefly he wonders how much time has actually passed since he left. After only a moment he picks up his feet again and keeps walking.

 

_“You never needed an excuse,” Hannibal responds finally, gently._

 

_“Yes I did. You know I did.”_

 

_Hannibal shakes his head and takes one small, single step forward again. “You never needed one with_ me _.”_

 

_Will’s shoulders slump as he loses his internal battle of tug of war. His anger depletes and leaves him, and when it does he is suddenly aware of how exhausted he feels. His muscles ache, his shoulder is stiff and burns when he moves it too quickly or too suddenly. The knife wound on the side of his face throbs and he feels it in every nerve ending from his jaw to his sinuses._

 

_He is tired from so much more than just a lack of sleep._

 

_Will loses yet another internal struggle when he leans into Hannibal’s embrace instead of fighting it. His forehead rests against his shoulder and Hannibal’s arms surround him, his hand running up Will’s back to cradle his neck. A million things run through Will’s mind as to what to say but in the end he finds all of them redundant. Lacking._

 

_They stay like that for an amount of time neither of them cares to count. Outside, the storm comes to a quiet hush and then stills completely._

 

The market is busy at this time of day and that allows Will to blend into the crowd without much attention. There are several people scattered on the sidewalk, planted in front of the stands and stores, perusing whatever is in front of them, some nudging their way in or reaching over others to get at what they want. The bustle of the holiday season is in spirit here, and Will chooses to stick to where he has the least chance of getting pushed around.

 

Apples. Dates. Wine. Getting them shouldn’t be too hard.

 

Will and Hannibal shop together at least once a week to shop for groceries, and after their first time at the market Hannibal had already made a reputation for himself among the sellers. It seemed risky to Will for them to become too friendly with anyone while they were supposed to be laying low, but Hannibal didn’t share his concerns. All it took in most cases was a smile from him and he was in their good favors.

 

_“That woman was flirting with you, you know,” Will commented to Hannibal on their walk home, bags of groceries crinkling at his sides._

 

_“I know,” Hannibal says, plainly yet innocently._

 

_“God, you’re smug.”_

 

_“I wasn’t flirting back, as you saw.”_

 

_“You were soaking it up pretty liberally, though. Doesn’t that count as some form of participation?”_

 

_Hannibal tilts his head, a curious smile on his lips. “I don’t think so. Either way,” Hannibal turns to catch Will’s eye, “I promise that you have no competition as far as my affection goes.”_

 

_Will stops in his tracks. Hannibal does as well._

 

_“I’m not jealous.”_

 

_“Of course not,” Hannibal agrees, that same smile affixed to his lips. “But in the case that you were...” he takes a subtle step closer to Will filling the space between them, his voice lighter and playful when he speaks, “I could always find some way to make it up to you.”_

 

_Will rolls his eyes at him and begins walking again. He does a remarkably poor job hiding the blush on his cheeks._

 

A breeze rolls through, biting the skin on Will’s face. The temperature in the air has dropped significantly and now promises a storm rather than simply hinting at one. Will is able to pick out and purchase the apples and dates without too much trouble, and after he has those secured he sets his sights on the small winery across the street. He makes his way there and is about to throw the door open when he sees something that halts him momentarily.

 

An old woman across the street standing alone outside of a florist shop, staring in through the windows. She is wrapped in a thin shawl, too thin for this weather, and is hugging it close to her body. It is only for a few moments that Will is distracted, feeling a pang of something he doesn’t try to define. He doesn’t even question why the vision of it caught his attention in the first place.

 

From further up the road a older man walks to her slowly, carrying something wrapped and tied with ribbon in his hand. They greet each other with an embrace and then walk off together, hand in hand. Will lets the warmth he feels in his chest still, and then he moves on, entering the winery to make his selection.

 

It didn’t entirely make sense for Hannibal to love him, or in some ways to even be capable of the intensity of love that he holds for Will, but nothing in his life could make sense anymore if he didn’t.

 

_Hannibal serves breakfast, and while Will takes his first bite Hannibal waits to start on his. He poses himself at the opposite side of the counter and Will can feel the hesitation in the room as Hannibal silently prepares his words. He has an expectation of what Hannibal wants to say to him, and the anticipation of it presents as a lump in his throat._

 

_“I have been considering what you said,” Hannibal begins. “And I think you’ll find that an excuse to allow yourself to stay here, contented in that decision, is not what you need. But rather only the rationale of the situation you already find yourself in.”_

 

_Will floats his fork in the air over his plate, his arm rested on the countertop. “I don’t understand what you mean.”_

 

_“I think it’s quite obvious. Separated, don’t I pose a greater liability and inconvenience than otherwise? The mischief to which I have propensity for is obviously in your interest to have influence over, isn’t it?”_

 

_Will stares at Hannibal, taking a moment to process what he’s saying. He is taken aback, almost completely dumbfounded. “You’re saying you...so long as I stay, you are giving me power of influence over you?”_

 

_Hannibal corrects him. “Only the same influence over me you’ve always had.”_

 

_“Influence.” Will scrutinizes the word, rolling it on his tongue. “Susceptibility to influence. Isn’t that a weakness on your part?”_

 

_Hannibal intakes a breath and exhales. “I have long since accepted that I possess many weaknesses when it comes to you. I believe it’s something we share in common in regards to each other.” A small shrug. “Better to acknowledge it than hide from the truth. Better to know yourself than be an unwelcome guest in your own mind.”_

 

_Will stares at him, unbelieving. “I didn’t expect this from you.”_

 

_“I grant that my idea of a solution in this situation is not the same as yours, but it’s nonetheless something we both want.” He shrugs. “Call it a compromise.”_

 

_“A compromise?” Will asks incredulously. “Is that what we do now?” There is an implied bitterness to his words but not a drop of it touches his voice when he speaks. His tone is cautious. Vulnerable. Lost. Longing._

 

_Hannibal answers him with as much resolution as Will needs to hear. “If you’d like, then yes. As much as I want to say I wish for nothing to change, that isn’t true as long as you are uncertain if you want to be here. Hesitant in my company.” Hannibal then ducks his head slightly, breaking eye contact. Whatever script he prepared previously for this conversation has evidently run out of lines. He thinks over his words carefully, then speaks: “I want you here. With me. But under no one’s volition but your own.”_

 

_It’s more than fair to say that Will is at a loss for not only words but any idea of how to react at all. In the moment, his head is a flurry of a hundred different emotions and sentiments and desires all fighting for first place._

 

_The sum of them comes pouring out of him like water. “I want to be here. With you.”_

 

_Hannibal’s eyes lighten and he regards Will gently. “You and I represent two halves of something greater. We make an exquisite team when we’re working toward the same goal, untroubled by outside influence.”_

 

_“We haven’t had many opportunities to work together like that.”_

 

_“So let’s make our own opportunity, then.” Hannibal responds. “Why not, after all? If it’s up to us?”_

 

_Unable to translate his thoughts in the moment, Will settles for a single but committed nod and they leave it at that. Hannibal is in good spirits for the remainder of the day, and it progresses like any other day would for them. When evening comes, they prepare dinner together as has become their routine, Will offering his assistance when and where he can._

 

_They don’t speak anything further on the topic, but it is the only thing that Will can think of for the entire day. He replays Hannibal’s words in his mind over and over again, each time feeling the same swell in his chest that catches somewhere in his throat._

 

_After dinner and only one glass of scotch, Will kisses Hannibal, an agreeable culmination of everything he felt since their earlier conversation and, if he’s honest, much before. Both of their fields of focus narrow to that and only that for the rest of the night, uncaring for the moment about anything more._

 

_All Will finds himself thinking is how much sense it makes to him._

 

_Everything always fell apart so quickly for them before, so why couldn't it fall together just as quickly? With just as much ease?_

 

_Why couldn’t things end pleasantly just once?_

 

It is beginning to look like dusk when Will begins heading home, despite barely being three o’clock. The wine and the rest of the groceries crinkle in their paper bags. He chooses to take the path home that will deliver him through the backwoods of their cabin. It is the more scenic route, after all.

 

The last place his mind dwells is not on Hannibal. His thoughts wander to a memory that has stuck in his head since childhood. One that he hardly realizes he’s thinking of.

 

The sky slowly dims above him, and soon in the distance he sees their cabin, shining like a lighthouse against the backdrop of growing shadows and darkened sky...

 

And like that the memory is gone. Materialized into the nether, tucked back into some corner of his mind.

 

Will kicks his boots off on the steps of the back porch and leaves them outside the door. He is greeted inside by gentle lamplight and the smell of tea brewing. Will is used to hearing the scurrying of excited paws every time he comes home, but this time it is silent inside save for the quiet crackle of the fireplace.

 

Hannibal has done as he promised and decorated top to bottom. Their cabin looks like some idyllic image straight out of a Christmas catalogue, except not at all plastic-looking or ridden with touches of obvious consumerism. Will takes a moment to take it all in and feels at ease.

 

Hannibal has two tea mugs set out on the counter and is busy filling one of them when Will comes in.

 

“I took the liberty of feeding Hamilton while you were out. And now I believe he has left to nap on our bed,” Hannibal tells him. “Would you like tea?”

 

Will makes a noise to confirm that he does. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it beside the door then crosses the room and, without another thought, leans against Hannibal and wraps his arms around him, burying his face against his chest. Hannibal envelops him, pressing a kiss in his hair.

 

“Hungry?”

 

“Very.”

 

When they separate Will seats himself on the barstool across from Hannibal, adding a small amount of sugar to his tea.

 

“Did you say Hamilton was sleeping on our bed?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And you didn’t make him to get off?”

 

A shrug. “I figured I would let him enjoy it at least until you got home. He thinks he’s very sly.”

 

Will laughs, delighted by the idea of their 180 pound Mastiff attempting to sneak around under Hannibal’s nose.

 

“He obviously has no idea who he’s living with.”

 

“He certainly doesn’t.”

 

Will sips his tea while Hannibal fixes dinner and after they eat in front of the fireplace, entirely forgetting the frost outside.

 

“We’re missing something,” Will says after finishing his last forkful, looking thoughtfully around the room.

 

Hannibal looks at him curiously. “Are we?”

 

He nods and gestures to the empty corner beside the fireplace. “A tree.”

 

A small smile spreads across Hannibal's face. “I was wondering if you would say something about that.”

 

“It won’t be Christmas without a tree, right?” Will stands to carry their dishes to the sink. “We should get one.”

 

Another smile. “I'd like that.”

 

Will looks back over his shoulder. “Tomorrow?”

 

Hannibal nods in elated agreement.

 

The rest of their evening passes placidly, and when night falls so do they into bed and eventually into sleep. Will dreams deeply and gently. Faded memories from the past come into view, comprehensive and vivid, slipping from the corners of his mind and then just as easily slipping back out. Will doesn’t remember them in the morning except in imprints, and it’s just as well.

 

The two of them sleep peacefully, intertwined and warm and safe, and outside the storm passes over them and then fades quietly overhead.

 

_Will is young. No older than eight years old._

 

_The stray dog had chosen their house in its search for any morsel of food, and it catapults into Will's lap upon first meeting him, knocking him clean over. That would become their greeting from then on, a tradition of sorts between the two._

 

_Will’s father had put a ban on the dog (Rocky, as Will would later name him) entering the house at first. It was filthy. It could bring fleas or God knows what else into their home and he wouldn’t allow for that._

 

_But the dog was also skinny. Almost shockingly so. It had obviously skipped more than a few meals, and, having a heart in his chest, Will’s father agreed to feed the pup until they found somewhere better for him to stay._

 

_The more weight the dog put on, the happier Will became._

 

_The weather was steadily turning to frost as the year progressed on, and, again, having the same weakness and soft spot, he caved and allowed the poor thing to sleep inside._

 

_“Just not on the furniture, alright?” But that rule, too, was soon broken, and the breaking of it accepted with a passing sigh and not much else._

 

_“I don't know why he likes me,” Will mused one day sat on the floor of their living room, his arms full of the ecstatic pup. “I didn't even do anything to make him love me so much.”_

 

_His father stood over the two, watching, and then with a gentle smile he rubbed Will's head._

 

_“That's how you know it's real,” his father said to him. “Now, I’ve got to head to work. Don't be late for school, okay?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I haven't posted anything in over a year now so it feels good to publish another fic :). This actually started as a random inspiration dump where I wrote all of the angsty flash-back scenes in one sitting and then afterwards I transformed it into a fluffy Christmas fic lol. That took some time and tweaking but I'm satisfied with how it turned out and I hope you all enjoyed reading it!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below :)
> 
> [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hannibalnuxvomica)


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